Slightly more bearable
by sarrie5
Summary: He had always been and would always be House, and at that moment she felt that no matter how hard she tried to push him out of her mind, if he wanted, he would always find a way back. Written for the LJ Secret Santa fic-a-thon


_The fic is written for the LJ Secret Santa __fic-a-thon __for __**athousandsmiles**__, who wanted a story with romance, Wilson and __a different setting than the usual and didn't want Huddy, Cameron/Chase or heavy angst. Probably, the story turned a bit different from what was expected: the fic is S6 compliant, so there is some angst as well as some romance, but I still sincerely hope that she will like it. _

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No matter what city you're in, there is one unbending rule - ferries are for tourists, for disgustingly noisy, annoying tourists, or parents with overly enthusiastic, and thus even noisier kids. That said, getting on a ferry in New York is a sure way to earn a headache of the kind, which even Vicodin can hardly alleviate, not that the drug is still an option for him. On his list of places to avoid, New York ferries make it to the top, surpassed only by the chaos of Clinic during holidays.

So it is one of the biggest, and probably most twisted ironies that House finds himself on the upperdeck of the ferryboat in a freezing November wind. After ten minutes, while trying to get his mind off the prospect of spending the next hour or so trapped here, he traces the chain of events back to where it all started. It doesn't take him long to find the root of all evil. That twisted, or better yet screwed irony wears the name of James Wilson. If it wasn't for yet another of his friend's attempts to have a lasting relationship, he would have bailed House out, and none of this would have happened.

Yet, if it hadn't been for Wilson, and none of this would have happened, then… Suddenly, the guessing game loses its appeal, because however ridiculous it may seem, however reluctant he is to admit it, he has come to enjoy some of the consequences of the whole ordeal. Of course, he won't come so far as acknowledging the fact to Wilson. His friend already suspects, after all.

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_Three_ _months ago_

The phone rang just as Cameron was finishing curling her hair. Glancing on the screen flashing with the caller's ID, she promptly turned off the curling iron and reached for her cell.

To think that just two years ago she used to freeze for a mid-second every time Wilson called, gripped by an absolutely irrational fear that he might say something that would bring back in full force the memories of House or Chase. It took some time, but this disturbing uneasiness had passed, and she enjoyed her conversations with Wilson just because he was her friend. Pity that this friendship started getting stronger only after she had left Princeton.

"Allison, sorry for calling late." Wilson seemed unusually hesitant. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"No. Not yet." She glanced at her watch: still two hours to get ready for a dinner with a friend. "It's always nice to hear from you."

"You too. I... how are things?"

"Still getting used to the city, living here is different from just visiting."

Chicago had never been supposed to be permanent – just a reprise, a city filled with... she wouldn't say happiness, comforting familiarity would be more fitting. But a healing virtue of any reprise partly rests in the fact that it's temporary. After a while, she had started striving to move on, and New York seemed a fitting place for turning over a new leaf – career-wise Mount Sinai was very promising, and more importantly, the city itself offered a perfect contrast to both Princeton and Chicago. The only downside being its proximity to Princeton, but Cameron had long since reconciled with the fact that life offered no perfect options.

"It'll grow on you."

"It has to."

"I like your confidence."

"For once, it's just stubbornness." She smiled.

"It works too."

However relaxing this conversation might seem, Cameron suspected that Wilson had something on his mind, but was trying to gather the courage to speak about it. A few years ago she would have waited, would have pretended that she couldn't see right through him. She didn't feel like waiting now, probably New York was already growing on her.

"James, what's the matter? Don't take me wrong, I'm glad to hear from you, but..."

"Am I that obvious?"

"Just a little bit."

"I... wanted to ask you for a favor."

It wasn't the request itself, rather an apologetic note in Wilson's voice that bothered her. She had a nagging feeling that some way, somehow, it would all boil down to House. She bit the inside of her cheek, wishing to be wrong.

"House needs help, and before you say no, just listen..."

The next ten minutes were filled with Wilson retelling the story of House's latest stunt. Most of his words, however, flew by her, eclipsed by one question that was running through her mind – why couldn't she just break free for good?

Yet, some of Wilson's phrases' still registered, giving her bits and pieces of the whole picture:

"We shouldn't have sent him on this consult on his own."

"He was right, though, I know it, everyone knows it, if only he hadn't acted like House."

"Patient's husband punched him, things got messy. They should've settled it, but..."

"Somehow, he pissed off the judge. He's in custody now, needs to be bailed out."

"I just can't fly there right now, we're at Sam's parents, and his team is on a new case and..."

Cameron closed her eyes shut, in a vain hope that it was just a dream. Yet nothing changed as she opened them a moment later: the city outside still seemed like a sea of motley lights, Wilson sounded just as concerned as before, her hand was gripping the cell just as firmly. Suddenly, she felt tired.

"James," Cameron asked incredulously, "what exactly do you need me to do? I can't just go to Princeton and..."

"He was on the consult in New York, I told you in the beginning."

If only she had been listening.

Rationally, she knew she should refuse, tell Wilson right now that House was none of her business, hadn't been for a few years now. Instead he had been carefully, meticulously pushed in a far corner of her mind. It took her too long to finally relegate all personal memories of him to the sidelines, and she wouldn't risk letting them out. Not now, when she'd finally found a balance, not now when she didn't wonder about what-ifs anymore, finally convinced that it had been incredibly stupid to put her hopes on just an opportunity which probably had never existed in the first place.

It would be easy and so tempting to refuse, but that selfless part of her that House used to mock at, wouldn't let Cameron do so. So she glanced at her watch, telling herself that she didn't need two hours to get ready for the dinner. And then, there was Wilson, her friend, who wouldn't have asked if it wasn't important. Wilson, probably better than anyone else, understood and respected her desire to distance herself from Princeton and anything related to it, since he had gone thought the same after Amber died. Acknowledging this painful bond they shared, he had rarely mentioned House. Until now.

A few impossibly long minutes later she heard her own voice as if from the distance:

"What exactly do you want me to do?"

About an hour later, Cameron had settled all the formalities at the police station and was escorted to the bullpen with House. She saw him sitting on the bench, twisting his cane between his fingers, seemingly nonchalant about the situation he got himself into. Yet again. After a closer look, however, she discerned the pretence: he seemed tired, probably after spending almost a whole day in custody. He must be in pain, she briefly wondered whether he was back on Vicodin or substituted something else for it.

Lost in her thoughts, she missed the exact moment when House noticed her:

"I thought I told Wilson to send a hooker."

Cameron couldn't help smirking – of all the things he could have said to her after these years, he... actually, he acted almost exactly as she expected him to. A small part of her was even grateful for his casual tone, which helped to pretend that the situation was perfectly normal, or at least as normal as it could be with House. She just shrugged her shoulders, doing her best to keep up with his nonchalant tone:

"You can't always get what you want, right?"

He left the cell, leaning more heavily on his cane then she remembered. She tried to dismiss the observation before unwanted questions and concerns would enter her mind. Cameron turned to leave, refusing to let herself look back.

"Your hair is shorter."

House sounded pensive, but she still didn't turn around. Instead she crossed her arms over her chest, digging her nails in the soft fabric of her coat.

"Observant as ever."

"Kind of expected you to turn brunette again, going back to the roots. Pun intended." He closed the remaining distance between them, now standing just a step away from her. "Why the Grace Kelly look?"

"You want to discuss my hair, or finally catch a taxi and go to the hotel?"

"Is that your subtle way of begging me for sex?"

"That's not what I..." She turned around and sighed exasperated as she saw him smirking. "I've done my part. Call Wilson, call anyone who needs to know and tell them that everything is Ok."

They left the building, she waved in the direction of the taxi that she used to get here. Previously, she had given the driver the address of House's hotel she got from Wilson.

"Take this taxi, I'll get my own."

"Running again? Well, it's nice to know that I still affect you that much that you don't trust yourself with me."

He winked.

"Has it crossed your mind that I might have plans for the evening? Apart from getting you out ofjail?"

"If it was something serious, you wouldn't have come at all."

"It was a favor to Wilson, nothing more." She had no idea why her voice sounded so defensive. The sixth sense was telling her to leave, because the longer she stayed with him, the easier it was for him to disturb the balance she fought so hard to find. "I have a life, which doesn't revolve around you, House. I grew up the moment I left Princeton, I've moved on."

"Then why are you afraid of sharing a taxi with me?"

"I'm not."

She watched him get into the cab and leave the door open.

"Mind proving it?" She couldn't see, but would swear there was this smug smirk on his face she remembered all too well.

Once Cameron had closed the door, sitting down beside him, she realized the gravity of her mistake. Regardless for what motive House wanted to prolong their meeting, the fact remained: he had played her damn well. Now she felt trapped and vulnerable, fearing that he'd start pushing her with uneasy, sensitive questions, scrutinizing her answers in an attempt to find flaws or inconsistencies in her new life.

"I won't ask, it's obvious." He said wryly, echoing her thoughts. "Boring even: moving on, forgetting about that murdering ex-husband of yours, getting a fresh start away from my poisonous influence and all that jazz. Though I expected something more drastic, like Africa and doctors without borders." He was looking at her with the intensity she certainly wasn't prepared for. "So, which hospital?"

"Mount Sinai."

"Not bad. Always thought New York would be too hectic for you."

"People change. I like it here."

"But for what reason? You once claimed that motives do matter."

Two years, and House still could see right through her. He also could go on with this game forever, she realized, pulling at her strings, getting the answers she was neither ready, nor willing to give. She wouldn't let him. Instead of answering Cameron looked out of the window, concentrating on blurry lights of the evening city. It was beautiful, far from perfect or flawless, filled with hard edges, but captivating none the less. Almost like House – the thought flashed thought her mind before Cameron could stop herself.

A few minutes passed, and House didn't push further, contrary to what she expected. Unexplainably, the silence that stretched between them after House's last words wasn't uncomfortable or tense, rather even a tiny bit comforting. Although she would never be able to explain why.

When the cab stopped at the red light, House cleared his throat and wondered in amusement:

"You won't even ask?"

"What?"

"You won't ask how I ended up in jail?"

He could still surprise her, clearly. The House she remembered would never willingly encourage her to ask questions about his life. He just wouldn't.

"Wilson gave me a short version, and I know you well enough to get the whole picture. Strange, but you're also predictable..." Cameron finally turned to face him, trying to read his expression, searching for confirmation of her words: "You pissed off the patient's family just 'cause you could, probably saved a life but not before pushing the limits too far."

House listened attentively, just like he did when she was updating him with important data on their patient. Probably, that's what it was - her attempt at the differential diagnosis of Gregory House. When she stopped, House looked out of the window and started reciting the facts, his voice void of any emotion.

"A woman, in her forties, with a lupus, well SLE to be exact, in themiddle of a flare-up."

"You never give the answers from the beginning." Cameron whispered more to herself, sensing that there was more to the story.

House nodded in approval but still didn't turn around, knowingly or not mirroring her own behavior of a few minutes ago. He kept going:

"Also presents with elevated blood pressure, protein in the urine, seizures, signs of kidney failure, SSA/SSB antibodies."

"Far from the best condition with SLE, but still treatable. But you know it as well as I do."

"There was one more symptom, though. Pregnancy."

"So…" Cameron's voice trailed off as she recalled once again the symptoms House enumerated. "Preeclampsia, coupled with a SLE flare-up and her age… She doesn't have the best chances, neither does the baby, but still…"

"Always an optimist."

"Let me guess – you told her and her husband the odds as you saw them."

"No need to give false hope."

"Why are you telling me this?"

He finally turned around. The lines in the corners of his mouth and on his forehead were a bit more pronounced then she remembered, but his blue eyes were still captivating. Clichéd as it may seem, she used to feel electricity every time he looked at her this way. Just as his eyes locked on hers, she suddenly felt it again - something powerful and special, something she hadn't experienced in a while. He had always been and would always be House, and at that moment she felt that no matter how hard she tried to push him out of her mind, if he wanted, he would always find a way back. Strange, considering that there was no hint of romance in their conversation, not a single hint that the old Cameron could have used to exaggerate and fill in with an underlying meaning. Meanwhile, House asked:

"What would you do?"

And then it dawned on her: he needed to hear her opinion, probably for the same reason he sometimes used to discard it during her fellowship – he knew that Cameron cared more than she should.

"I'd...I wouldn't lie, if that's what you mean. Giving hope is necessary, but giving a false hope is cruel. I'd cover all outcomes, good and bad." She caught a slight doubt in his eyes and continued: "And then I'd do everything I can to help her to beat the odds."

"You're changed, but then you didn't." The last thing she expected was the relief she heard in his voice at this very moment.

Cameron just lowered her eyes, suddenly feeling that House's presence was a little too much. That's how they had always been: challenging each other, complementing in a strange way, opening up when the other least expected it. It was a bit frightening to acknowledge how easily they slipped back into their old routine and that she had missed the thrill of talking to him.

Even delivered in an almost-whisper, his next words startled her, for the last thing she expected to hear from him was:

"Probably that's why I miss you."

She looked at him for a moment, trying to discern an ulterior motive behind the phrase. House seemed genuine, and unusually uncomfortable with this revelation. It was tempting to believe, but she had made this very mistake too many times in past. So there had to be a safer explanation, and Cameron stubbornly tried to find it. She shook her head, a small, almost indiscernible smile gracing the corners of her lips.

"You… no, you miss the idea of me."

"I had a Cameron v.2: wide-eyed innocence, morals, even a fling with Chase."

"Seems like a whole package."

"Don't forget fuller breasts…"

Unfazed by his comment, Cameron just raised her eyebrow suggesting:

"An upgraded version?"

"A fake." He concluded pensively. "Which proves your theory wrong."

"I think we're stuck in the worst of New York traffic jams ever." Cameron nervously folded her arms on her chest, perfectly aware of the fact that her attempt at changing the topic was lame to say the least. She needed a way-out, for should they continue, she might believe him, and even more so – she might acknowledge, at least to herself, that a small part of her missed him too.

"You still suck at changing topics." He smirked sarcastically. "The traffic sucks even more, though."

Cameron nodded in agreement, relieved that her attempt worked.

"Well, in this case …" A twinkle in his eyes told her that he was up to something, and she wondered where it would lead them this time: "let's just get out of it here, and have dinner."

It might be another one of his attempts to mess with her, he might be just bored or be searching for a distraction. Yet the theory crumbled when she took in the way House was waiting for her answer - as if her agreement was really important for him.

She shouldn't follow his lead, she knew. But tonight already was the night of wrong decisions, so probably one more wouldn't hurt.

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_Present time:_

Leaning on the railings, House replays in his mind the last couple of months. He knows the road to New York all too well now. What he still doesn't know, however, is why he was so determined to prolong his meeting with Cameron - it could have been his curiosity, stubbornness, a surprising realization that he did miss her or a sudden desire to stop her from running away yet again. In fact, he doesn't care anymore what prompted him to ask Cameron for dinner. Probably all of the above, for there are no simple answers when it comes to him and her.

Cameron and he don't date, not in any conventional sense of the word. He is wary of using the term after his last disastrous attempt at building 'a serious, adult relationship'. However, the thing with Cameron is amazingly different, since there are no undercurrent power plays or crusades to change him.

He comes to New York and meets her either at her hospital (being a world-renowned doctor has its perks), or at a bar, or at a cafe which they both like. They talk, and sometimes stubbornly argue for there is still baggage between them. But they also laugh, and feel comfortable with even not talking at all – a sensation which he rarely experienced with anyone else.

None of them calls it dating, yet probably, the fact that after a month he spent the first night at her apartment and proceeded to spend week-ends there testifies to it. Or the fact that he secretly hates it when she has to go to her hospital during a week-end. Or probably the fact that during his own week in Princeton, when he feels especially exasperated and frustrated by his team or patients, House thinks about the upcoming week-end, recalling an image of Cameron in her deep blue bathrobe, her blonde hair slightly curly at the ends after the shower.

Cameron proves to be different from the image he coined all those years ago: there is so much more to her than an annoying tendency to save everyone or an insane moral compass. The real Cameron, the one he's getting to know now, is much more complex, and he likes this complexity and the way it fits in his life.

Today House waits, his hands over the railings, scanning the crowd, which is rushing into the lower deck of the ferry boat, looking for the familiar blonde hair. True, he hates ferries, but for some weird reason she likes them. Another irony of the whole situation is that Cameron knows that his attitude to ferries and she has never directly asked him to join her on this stupid sight-seeing ride she has been planning for two weeks, beaming with excitement.

Probably, that's why this thing between them works: she never pushes, never tries to turn him into someone he is not, and along the way he finds himself willing to do something for her, and for this still new and fragile concept of them.

Just like with this ride – she never pushed, but he has come anyway, because with her even New York ferries are slightly more bearable.


End file.
